Visiting Hours
by TheMeepyFreak
Summary: "Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go." (T.S. Eliot). However, Alfred Prudrock (T.S. Eliot) was still wondering what he was doing standing face to face with an emotionless murderer- Meursault. (I do not own "The Stranger" nor Prudrock.) PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!


**Visiting Hours**

 **By The Meepy Freak**

"Can I see him?" I whisper to the guard in a voice filled with uncertainty.

I do not know if I should even do this, whether it is worth it or not. Obviously, I'm intrigued by the prisoner and his lack of emotion, yet does that mean I should endanger my life to get answers? The prisoner cannot be too bad though. Besides nobody but the guard and I would know about this meeting since the prisoner would be executed in a few hours. This is my chance to change my life for the better. I have to go through with it.

"It is only an hour before dusk," the guard has a steely expression on his face that makes me doubt myself, "and the person you are trying to see is off limits."

"Please," I reach my hands into my pockets. I cannot believe I'm doing this!

"I _need_ to see him."

"Sir, it is against my orders-"

I take a 20 dollar bill out of my pocket, and wave it at the guard.

He looks reluctant, but it is not long until greed consumes him, "5 minutes-"

"10 minutes," I interrupt.

"10 minutes," the guard sighs dejectedly. "I'll come back and throw you out after that. Any damage that monster does is not my fault either."

"Thank you," I breathe out. Whether I want to or not, I am going to see the prisoner. I am going to be coming face to face with a murderer.

"This is it," the guard points to the cell and uses his keys to unlock it for me.

I feel as if I am in a fantasy _. Me-_ in a jail cell? It seems like a joke. Even if I am not the one technically imprisoned, I know that I would not be able to last more than an hour here without freaking out. I can barely see myself lasting 10 minutes. It is just so dirty and lonely, layered with an overwhelming atmosphere of sadness. I did not come here to criticize prison cells though. I came here to listen to the prisoner- the other person sulking in this grimy cell.

"H-h-hello," my voice shakes as I approach the prisoner. I feel pathetic inside for letting my anxiety define the prisoner's first impression of me.

The prisoner looks up from the brooding position he is in. His outward appearance is normal. In fact, he looks like a sophisticated, young man, not a murderer. The only thing setting him different from everybody else is the huge grin on his face, almost as if he is _happy_. That is impossible though. Nobody, not even him, could be excited to be stuck in a jail cell before being executed.

"M-m-my name is Alf-alfred," I stammer nervously. I cannot believe I am doing this. I am really doing this, "Alfred Prufrock."

"Meursault," his voice is hard, bare, and emotionless. He appears distant from the world in a way that puzzles me. It is as if he is not thinking at all, and he is content because of it. I yearned to be that joyful.

"Could y-you help me?" I ask, slowly gaining my confidence. The prisoner, Meursault, is defenseless and trapped. He cannot attack me with anything but that disturbing smile.

"Judging by your approach, it is not as if I have a choice," he mutters, his tone gruff and low. His eyes finally rest on me, almost as if investigating me except that there are no substance within them. They are the eyes of a dead man.

"Why?" my voice strikes against the agonizing silence he has created. "Why did you not cry or show any emotion when your mother died?"

Meursault looks at me, and his large grin somehow grows, "I already told my lawyer why. You can read my statement elsewhere."

"I want you to tell me though," I bite my lip. What am I doing? This is a murderer in front of me not the men I talk to everyday!

"Fine," he states abruptly.

The surrounding air seems to drop a few degrees as he continues, a grin still tight on his face, "There was no point. Everybody dies anyway, so what is the point of mourning them? Life itself only leads to death. Death should be welcomed, not avoided. It is the only accomplishment in life anyway, no matter what anybody may think. What is the point of life if not to die?"

"So, you are saying that life… is meaningless," it is my turn to reply coldly. " _That_ is what you believe?'

There's _no_ way this could possibly be his mindset. Life had meaning- to achieve happiness whether through love or vengeance. I remember the women at home. Even if I could never gather the courage to approach them, they still stimulated certain emotions inside of me. To ignore these emotions would bebarbarous. No wonder this man- this _prisoner_ \- is a murderer. His entire philosophy revolved on him not caring about others!

`"What about love? Surely, you must have been in love," I am desperate now. I cannot let my trip be a waste. I had thought that he was going to give me a new path to happiness, yet I am incorrect. The least I can do was enlighten him with the truth before his death.

His eyes close before opening once again in an extended blink, "I am engaged to a woman named Marie."

He's engaged, and he's spouting out this nonsense?! I feel sympathetic to his lover- Marie. I may not have much experience with love, being too reluctant to advance onto a woman. However, I know what it feels like to be in love. Having the feelings not returned is a horrendous, and I know that this… prisoner is not capable of love. He's not capable of any emotion. He is just capable of killing, murdering with a smile on his face and no regrets.

I have nothing more to say, and Meursault, the prisoner, does not seem to want to speak either. The prison cell simply sit in unsettling silence until the sound of loud footsteps approaching the cell travels its way to my ears.

"Time's up," the guard opens the door. I know I have never been so happy to see the greedy guard who foolishly let me bribe him. I almost sprint out of the cell. I cannot stand the prisoner any longer.

"Let us go," I plead as the guard locks the cell leaving the prisoner trapped inside.

The prisoner deserves to be trapped. He deserves to be executed. He is not a human. He is a lunatic!

I can just imagine that unbearable smile on his face, almost taunting my existence; no matter how much I try, I will never be able to forget it.


End file.
